


The Light Which Once Burned

by dryadgrl13



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Issues, Requited Love, Templars and Mages, Unrequited Love, You wanted more Annika, additional tags to be added later, here ya go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryadgrl13/pseuds/dryadgrl13
Summary: Before the devastation of Brianne’s family, there was just a boy who loved a girl, in a world determined to keep them from happiness.A companion piece to my Enchanter Brianne series (although I'm writing this so that it can stand on its own). A collection of oneshots centered around the journey both of her parents took before finally coming together.*This is not going to be as angsty as it sounds. I’m not very good at writing The Angst. I try, though.





	1. Like The Leaves After A Long Winter

**Author's Note:**

> "In the solitude of the night, Maferath dwelled in his bitterness,  
> And the Light which once burned within him extinguished.”  
> \--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, The Aftermath of the Valerian Fields

"The lord of the Alamarri sent forth his most trusted runner  
To the gates of Minrathous itself, to call the Archon to parley,  
That like the leaves after a long winter, peace too might return to the land.”  
\--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, Maferath Meets With Hessarian

If someone had walked up to Annika Eduards on the street and told her that one day she would be a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, she would have backed away slowly before running to get her father. 

She wouldn’t be running away out of fear, though. She would be dragging her father, kicking and screaming, back to that person to demand that they tell him what they had told her. Maybe hearing from someone else would convince him to listen to his little girl about what she really wanted from life.

She did not want to grow up, marry a moderately wealthy merchant, and spend the rest of her days hosting cozy salons and taking care of seven children. 

Not that her father had explicitly told her that was what he wanted for her future. No, Tobias Eduards was a man of few words. He believed in actions and taught all of his children to believe the same. 

When her mother died, her father made sure to be there for her and her brothers. Not once did he demand that Annika take the place of her mother in their household. For the first time ever, her father cleaned dishes, laundered clothes, and tucked his children into bed at night. 

Their apartment near the barracks had barely been large enough for the family of six, but they all mourned the loss of the press of Bryanna Eduards’ body in the kitchen and at the dinner table, along with the loss of her laughter and her smile. There was a gaping hole in the Eduards family that could never again be filled. 

Annika’s father couldn’t cook to save his family’s life, but luckily all of her brothers were old enough to take over that chore while dividing up what their father didn’t do. Soon it didn’t matter, as one by one her brothers enlisted in the City Guard to follow in their father’s footsteps, and they began making enough money to hire help.

A handful of years after her mother’s death, Annika found herself home alone most of the days of the week, with nothing to do but practice the ladylike things her father had hired a tutor to teach her. She hated painting, didn’t understand why she needed to know any languages beyond Trade, and the noises from the rented violin sounded more like several kinds of dying animals than any sonata. The only ladylike skill she was good at was embroidery, which mainly stemmed from her proficiency at both knitting and mending her own clothing. 

She found solace in the Chantry during that time of her life. She would walk to the building once a day to light a candle for her mother. She hadn’t been raised to be devout, but the words of the Chant, the sound of the Sister’s voices, and the stillness Annika felt in her soul soothed the many aching pieces of her heart. It was also an excuse to get out of the apartment and to speak with people who weren’t family members or merchants selling their wares.

She didn’t understand how her father expected her to find a husband one day when she never went anywhere or did anything (which was fine by her, if anyone asked).

It was on one of those evening walks to the Chantry that Annika’s life took a drastic turn. The sun has just started descending below the buildings that lined the waterfront, which meant her father and one of her brothers would be home soon from their rotation. There was just enough time for her to walk to the Chantry, light a candle, leave a coin in the donation box, and walk home. 

She was within a yard of the Chantry when the ornamental doors crashed open and a figure shot through them. Annika heard several shouts of, “Stop! Stop them!” before several templars appeared in the open doorway to take up the chase. 

They weren’t going to be fast enough, not in the heavy armor they wore. The man in tattered clothing that was racing from the Chantry was almost level with Annika when she lashed out, working solely from muscle memory.

Her father had taught all of his children self-defense. He was a practical man, and even though there were four men in the household to protect her and her mother, he made sure that both Annika and Bryanna knew the basics of both wielding a knife and hand-to-hand combat. Annika had used her brothers as practice, and they were more than willing to try tackling and grabbing her so that she could figure out how to get herself out of any situation.

None of that translated perfectly into how to take down a person running away from her, but her subconscious didn’t take that into consideration. 

Annika launched herself sideways into the thief, catching him around his midsection. Their combined momentum carried them in a diagonal stumble for a moment before Anika hooked her foot behind his kneecap and pulled. Even though she was only fourteen, and the man was close to double her height, she managed to twist him mid-fall so that she landed on top. Pulling a knife out of her boot, Annika held it to his throat until the two templars caught up to the pair lying in the street. Thank the Maker it only took a few seconds, as Annika was not prepared to follow through on the threat her dagger held. She was certain that the only thing truly keeping the man below her pinned to the ground was the shock of being taken down by a teenage girl.

“Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see everyday,” one of the templars said as he stood a few feet away. “That’s what The Maker thinks of people stealin’ from His House. You get a public and personal humiliation on top of a legal one.”

While he was talking, the second templar had knelt on the other side of the thief and motioned for Annika to to put her knife away. Annika did so while slipping off of the man she had pinned. The thief was red-faced and shaking, looking for all the world like he was planning on strangling the meddlesome girl sitting a foot away from him.

Annika started to stand up, but the ground came flying back up to meet her. She threw her hands out in time to catch herself on her knees, and looked behind her to see what had happened. 

The thief had accidentally tripped her while tearing her dagger out of her boot-sheath. She turned in time to see him strike the templar next to him in the head with the pommel of the weapon. The other templar wasn’t close enough to intervene, but ran forward anyways with a shout.

Thank the Maker for well-made helmets. The templar that was hit didn’t even flinch. Before Annika could blink, they had the thief’s arm twisted behind his back before a sickening pop echoed through the square. The thief screamed, dropping Annika’s dagger, and rolled forward onto his stomach when the templar forced him to.

The first templar took over the second one’s work, pulling cuffs from his belt and mumbling about idiot peasants and their greed. Once the thief was secured, the first templar turned to his partner and asked if they were alright. His partner pulled off their helmet with a grunt, revealing…

The reddest hair Annika had ever seen framing a sardonic, feminine smile.

Annika wasn’t sure what shocked her more: that there was hair that existed that was actually the color of oranges, or that there was a female templar an arm’s-length away from her.

The woman assured her partner that she was fine, cracked a joke about thick skulls, examined the outside of her helm, then turned to Annika and asked her the same question. Annika nodded wordlessly, eyes transfixed on the woman’s face the entire time.

“Ya sure yer okay, lass?” the templar demanded, worry clouding her hazel eyes. Andraste’s pyre, even the woman’s eyelashes were red!

“Have ya never seen a templar before?” the woman asked after waiting for Annika to respond to her earlier question with something other than a gaping, drowned-fish expression.

“You’re a girl,” Annika stammered, certain that the observation was somehow offensive, yet unable to say anything else.

The templar just chuckled though, and helped Annika stand. “Aye. There aren’t many of us in the Ostwick chapter, I’ll grant ya that. Didja think lasses couldna become templars?”

“I...there’s girls in the Guard with my dad. Not many. I didn’t think that they...I mean, I didn’t think that they _wouldn’t_ let girls in. I just...”

The woman laughed again, bright and relaxed. “It’s alright’. I’m no’ gonna hurtcha if ya offend me. You’ve got a mean tackle fer a wee thing. Where’d ya learn tha’?”

“My dad.” Annika puffed up proudly. “He says even though I’ve got men to protect me, I still gotta be able to take care of myself, just in case. Be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.” 

“An’ he’s in the City Guard? Good lad.” The templar dropped a hand to Annika’s shoulder and squeezed. “We need good lads like tha’ watchin’ out fer the people. An’ good lasses like you too. I’ll look forward ta seein’ ya on patrol in the future.”

“You...think I should join the guard?” Annika asked, her voice hushed in awe.

“If ya want to. Yer da doesna want ya ta join him in his profession?”

“I don’t...think so?” It occurred to Annika that she had never truly sat down and spoken with her father about it. All his talk of husbands, marriage, and grandchildren had taken place with other people. Annika had simply overheard some of it. But her father had also never encouraged her to learn how to fight beyond basic self-defense.

So maybe…

“Here’s my advice ta ya: do what ya want ta do, and fuck the lot of ‘em that says ya can’t. Or shouldn’t.”

Annika’s eyes turned as large as saucers at the woman’s swearing. “What if I want to be a templar?” she asked, only half joking.

“Hm. Ya might be a bit old fer trainin’, but ya can always try. What’s yer name, lass?”

“Annika.”

“Alright, Annika. If I see yer name on any recruit lists, I’ll make sure ta put in a good word fer ya with my captain.” The templar winked at her and finally turned away to follow after her partner, who was long gone by now. “Thanks fer the help.”

Annika watched the Chantry doors close behind the woman before turning and heading home. The trip took twice as long as it normally did, and Annika spent the extra time practicing how she was going to tell her father that she didn’t want to grow up, marry a moderately wealthy merchant, and spend the rest of her days hosting cozy salons and taking care of seven children. 

She wanted to catch bad men doing bad things, like she did today. She wanted to keep people safe, like her father and brothers do. She was tired of reading stories, safe in the comfort of her room.

She wanted to live them.


	2. Into The Heart of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, it is my deepest pride and greatest pleasure to welcome here tonight: Nolin Lochland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence done to a child by their parent (not sexual in nature).
> 
> “So Andraste said to her followers: ‘You who stand before the gates,  
> You who have followed me into the heart of evil,  
> The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat.’”  
> \--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, Andraste’s Sermon to the Armies

Nolin Lochland knew what it meant to be the head of a Household. It meant his future was set in stone. By the age of ten, his wife had been chosen and his political opinions had been mapped out, all without any input from him. He had his family’s history, political and social scandals, and future investment opportunities memorized. He was to live and die by his House and the Chantry’s teachings. All his actions were to bring honor and glory to both.

His days followed a strict regime that had him rising before dawn to attend the earliest Chantry service available. The rest of his mornings and afternoons were spent in his home’s library or study. He was privately tutored in business, history, language, and the art of argument. His evening hours were taken up by whatever charity work the Chantry had convinced his parents to engage in, whether or not the work was actually warranted for the good of the poor and needy in the city.

His family was unfailingly devout, as was all of Tantervale. Any who didn’t follow the Chantry’s teaching stayed silent and hidden, as the city guard was deep in the Chantry’s pocket. Nolin had never spoken to anyone about his doubts concerning the Maker and His returning, as he was terrified of what his parents might do.

His blasphemous thoughts should have been the least of his worries, especially when he began accidentally lighting things on fire.

The first time it happened, he was able to trick himself into believing it wasn’t his fault. He had been standing close to the dying fire in his bedroom, silently complaining to himself about how cold the room was, yet unwilling to ring for a servant to come and add more logs. Seemingly of its own accord, the dying embers lept and grew, causing the little noble to shriek and dive underneath the table in the corner of the room. 

He was able to pass it off as a natural occurrence. There must have been some sap that caught and flared. He went to bed in a cold room that night, and stayed away from all the fireplaces in the house for a solid week.

A month later he set fire to a book he was reading. It was a terribly dull text on the economic details of imports and exports. Nolin fought to keep his eyes open, wishing for something to happen that would get him out of this lesson. Just as he had finished that thought, the page that his finger was resting on caught fire. He squealed an undignified sound and ran across the room to throw the book into the empty fireplace. His tutor, who had been on the other side of the room (largely ignoring his pupil while he read), shouted at him and called for a servant to fetch his parents. That led to a long and uncomfortable conversation where Nolin, for the first time in his life, had to lie to his parents. He swore to never vandalize books in the name of boredom again, under penalty of severe punishment. As it was, his father took the switch to the back of his son’s hands far longer than he ever had before.

At this point in time, Nolin was fairly certain he knew what was happening to him, but fear kept him silent. Not fear of magic, though. He was thrilled about his magic. If he was turning into a mage, that meant he wouldn’t have to be Head of the Household someday. He could escape this life that made him miserable. He could go off to the Tower and serve the Circle, working magic spells and travelling to different places with the Templars. Life would be an adventure instead of perpetual monotony. He decided to keep quiet until he was one hundred percent sure what was happening, and after he had said all the silent goodbyes that he wanted to. 

Unfortunately, that choice was taken from him when he accidentally hurt his baby brother.

Henri was only a year old to Nolin’s ten. The only time Nolin spent with him was in the mornings just before attending the dawn Chantry service. Little Henri was fussed over by his nursemaid until Lady Lochland emerged from her chambers to take him. The nursemaid usually let Nolin hold Henri until their mother appeared, and when the baby was in a good mood, Nolin would play with him for a bit. 

One dark and dreary morning, while everyone was waiting for the Lord and Lady of the house, Nolin took his brother into his bedroom to show him a picture in a book. Nolin had just begun studying astronomy, and his father had procured a book full of star charts for their library. The tome was larger than the baby in Nolin’s arms, and it was comical to watch Henri run his hands along the images of constellations the length of his little arm. 

It was not funny when Henri grabbed a corner of a page and _ripped._ Nolin shouted and grabbed his brother’s arm, and the following scream echoed through the entire house.

Nolin hadn’t grabbed his brother _that_ hard, so he was sure that the baby had just been startled. His stomach bottomed out after the nursemaid came running to take the boy from him, and he noticed the burn mark on his brother’s arm as he passed him to his caretaker. 

The rest of that morning is a blur in Nolin’s memory. He remembers the nursemaid screaming and running from him. He remembers chasing after her while apologizing and begging for her not to tell his parents. The next thing he remembers is the strike of his father’s belt and the wails of his mother as she prayed aloud for Andraste to forgive such a wicked and wretched child. 

He knows that he eventually healed his brother. He can’t remember what happened (such as why his parents let him get close enough to the baby, or exactly how he knew what to do to heal him), but he will never forget his parents’ words in the aftermath of it. 

Lord and Lady Lochland were never openly affectionate, with each other or their children, but Nolin had always had the vague sense that they loved him. His father was quick to correct misbehavior with the aid of belt and switch, but Nolin had never thought it was excessive. Painful, yes, but affective. 

The agony rained down on him was tenfold anything he had ever experienced. His mother cried and shouted, not at his father to stop hitting him, but at the Maker, demanding to know why He had punished them with a mage as their heir? One of the servants must have run to the Chantry for the Templars, as neither of his parents left his side from the moment he healed his brother’s burn to the moment his father was pulled off of his prostrate form. His eyes may have swollen shut from his father’s fists, but he could hear enough to tell that it was Templars who were carrying him from the house. 

Sometime later he was set down along a carriage bench and left alone for a moment. Nolin faded in and out of consciousness until something cool touched his face. Large, gentle hands helped him sit up and drink what tasted like a healing potion. Nolin almost refused the assistance. He wanted to live with this pain a bit longer. He had earned it, after all. To his annoyance, he was forced to swallow a mouthful of the dark red liquid. He drank the rest on his own after that, as the healing felt too good to pass up in favor of masochism.

When he could open his eyes wide enough, he saw that the person helping him was a male Templar. At least, the man was in the casual red and brown leathers Nolin had seen Templars wearing before. The man spoke to him in soft tones, telling him that he was going to be taken to the Circle Tower. Nolin shook his head and winced at the pain, which caused the man to swear quietly and continue cleaning Nolin’s head wounds with a damp cloth. 

The ride to the Tower was short, and consisted of Nolin dozing off only to be prodded awake by his Templar companion (something about concussions and staying awake until a healer could see to him). Every time it happened, Nolin apologized profusely and shied away from the man, which only caused the Templar to glower at the carriage ceiling and mutter harsh words too quiet for Nolin to understand. 

The carriage had to wait for several minutes, parked in the middle of the long gravel drive that led up to the Tower, as no one had sent word ahead of their arrival. The Templar suddenly reached across the carriage and took Nolin’s hand in his own. Nolin flinched, but the man held his smaller hand in his own with a gentle firmness. “You have been through a terrible thing today.”

Nolin didn’t say anything. He just stared at his trapped hand with confusion and apprehension. “You need to know that what your father did to you was wrong. It was very wrong. No one deserves to be treated like that, no matter what they’ve done.”

The Templar let go of Nolin’s hand with a squeeze, but the boy’s eyes stayed glued to his companion’s face. “The rules at the Tower are strict, but they are fair. No one will be allowed to hurt you, just as you won’t be allowed to hurt anyone else. If anyone tries to, promise me you will tell one of the Templars. Alright?”

Nolin shook his head woodenly and bit back any comments about fairness and Chantry rhetoric. He had been studying it since he was old enough to read, after all. He thanked the Templar for his kindness and exited the carriage, ready to begin his new life. 

Now free of his family’s expectation, he could make up for any of his sins (either real or imagined) on his own terms. The unadorned Tower doors opened with a loud creak, and the sound of quiet voice and smell of rosemary welcomed him into his new home.


	3. Not Alone Do We Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annika & Nolin meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember:  
> Not alone do we stand on the field of battle.”  
> \--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, Andraste’s Sermon to the Armies

“Eduards! Get in here.”

Annika was glad for the excuse to stand from the desk she had been sitting at for over an hour. She stretched with her arms raised and twisted at the waist before heading through the open door that connected the templar common room to the office of the Knight-Commander. 

Hardeman wasn’t there, but Annika’s supervising Knight-Captain was. She was the only other female templar in the Tower at the moment, and Annika had a sneaking suspicion that _that_ was the only reason Annika kept getting assigned to her whenever it was Annika’s rotation to work in the Tower.

“Yes, ser?” Annika called back as she made her way into the office. 

Gabriela was standing next to a man that Annika had never seen before. He wore robes similar enough to the robes the Ostwick mages wore, but different enough to be noticeable. His sandy hair hung shaggy around his ears, almost long enough to cover his eyes.

Those hazel eyes zeroed in on her when she entered the room and slowly moved from the top of her head down to the lacing of her boots. 

Gabriela cleared her throat loudly, and the man grinned at her before lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Eduards, this is Enchanter Lochland. He’s been sent to us from Tantervale.”

“To replace Natalia.” Annika finished for her Captain.

“That’s a nicer way of putting it than my old Circle,” Lochland interjected. “On loan, they told me. ‘We’re loaning you to Ostwick for a bit.’ As though I was a particularly nice chaise the First Enchanter wanted to rest his bum on.”

Thank the Maker that Annika was practiced at saving face when dealing with the younger recruits. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep a chuckle from escaping. Gabriela ignored the mage altogether.

“Lochland comes highly recommended, and was just awarded his title before transferring.”

“Title?” Annika inquired, this time looking over at the man they had been talking about as though he wasn’t in the room with them.

“Senior Enchanter,” he informed her, the same grin from earlier making another appearance.

Annika blinked her eyes rapidly while she processed this information. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?” she blurted out.

Lochland’s grin transformed into a sinfully wicked smirk. “How old do I look?”

“Enough of that,” the Knight-Captain interrupted relatively good-naturedly. “Eduards will show you where you’ll be bunking down. If you need to change & refresh yourself, you may, and then you’ll get a tour of the Tower. The rest of the day will be yours to do with as you wish, but tomorrow you’ll be expected to start your lessons.”

The mage opened his mouth to say something, but shut it so quickly that the sound of his teeth clinking together was audible. The Knight-Captain and Lieutenant waited for a moment to see if he’d change his mind and voice whatever it was that he wanted to, but the mage just stared at the floor with a concerned look on his face.

“This way, if you please,” Annika said to him while turning towards the door. She didn’t look back, but could hear a muttered, _If you please. Hah._ coming from behind her, along with the soft footsteps of fabric soled shoes.

She led him up a flight of stairs to the Enchanters’ quarters. Directing him to the last door at the end of the hallway, she told him she’d wait for him outside, and he vanished into his new room.

She heard the harsh _snick_ of the lock shutting, then opening, then shutting again. She wondered if the Senior mages in Tantervale’s Circle were allowed rooms to share with locking doors. The First Enchanter, Knight-Commander, and all the Knight-Captains had keys to the doors, of course, but at least there was the illusion of privacy in Ostwick.

Annika didn’t have to wait long. The Circle’s newest member stepped back out into the hallway after only a few minutes. “You can take longer to get settled,” she assured him. “I don’t mind.”

The mage’s strained laughter made her feel uneasy. “You don’t mind waiting on me? Are all the Templars here so affable and accommodating?”

“You’re in a new place surrounded by people you don’t know,” she reasoned calmly. “Of course you might need some time.” 

Lochland merely shook his head and extended his arm in a flourished gesture for her to continue on. She harrumphed in a way that would do her Knight-Captain proud and led the Senior Enchanter on a tour of the Tower.

Annika was fairly good at multitasking, so she let her mind wander as she gave her commentary on the different levels and areas of the mage’s new home. Lochland wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. He needed a haircut something fierce, but his face was clean-shaven and his eyes were amazingly expressive. He was the same height as her, maybe even an inch or so shorter. It was hard to tell when she was wearing the boots that matched her uniform. 

He seemed to find immense pleasure in making off-hand comments at the end of every small speech she gave while talking about life at the Tower. He was fixated on how much _freedom_ the mages had. He went so far as to grab an apprentice that walked by in order to corroborate what Annika was telling him. She took the opportunity to ask the poor girl to spread the word that the new Creation teacher was here, and that lessons would resume as normal, starting tomorrow. 

“You never answered my question earlier,” he noted, once the apprentice had run away.

“Which was?”

“How old do you think I am?”

Annika snorted. “Only a fool would try and answer that.”

Lochland had been sporting a grin for the past half hour, which was starting to wear on her nerves, for some reason. “I’m not some wilting flower that’ll snub you at the next salon if you insult me.”

Against her better judgement, Annika found herself answering. “I’ve never met a Senior Enchanter under the age of forty.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, holding a hand to his heart and staggering along for a moment. “Maybe I need to start using some of those creams and tonics we make for the aristocracy.”

“Start with a haircut,” Annika advised dryly, which pulled a hearty laugh from her companion. Annika’s stomach did a few somersaults at the sound, leading her to think she may have eaten too large of a breakfast that morning.

“And how old are you, Recruit?”

“Lieutenant,” she corrected.

“Oh. Apologies, Knight-Lieutenant. Around twenty-five then, I’d guess.”

Annika neither confirmed nor denied his statement, but started leading him back to his room.

“I’m twenty-eight,” he told her, after a minute or two of silence as they walked. “I worked hard for my title. Made a few breakthroughs in the discipline of toxicology. That’s treating poisons and such,” he bragged. “I also think that Tantervale was tired of me, and found the first excuse they could for shipping me off. ‘Ostick needs another Senior Healer? Voila. We have one right here they can borrow.’”

“Why were they tired of you?”

“Have you ever been to Tantervale?”

Annika shook her head in the negative just as they made it back to the Enchanters’ quarters. She stood at attention outside of Lochland’s door as he lounged against the wall next to it while they finished their conversation.

“The whole city is full of devoted Andrastians. The Chantry’s word is law, especially in the Circle. I believe they got tired of me blaspheming my heart out every Wintersend eve and First Day. And all the days in between them, really.”

“You’d better keep clear of the chapel, then,” she advised. “No one will hold your atheism against you here, but I wouldn’t advertise it too loudly. You might find some like-minded mages, but you also might make some enemies.” 

“I’m touched by your concern, Knight-Lieutenant,” Lochland drawled as he bowed to her. “Might I consider you one of the former?”

“A like-minded mage?”

“A friend,” he corrected.

Annika shifted her eyes to rest on the detailed tapestry hanging nearby. She didn’t know how to tell him no without being rude. There was a delicate dynamic--a fine line--that needed to be carefully tread between the mages and Templars in order for them to coexist effectively.

“I...I don’t think it would be appropriate. I will always be friendly, but…”

“If not friends, then what?” Lochland asked. His eyes glinted deviously, and he was wearing that stunning smirk from earlier. “I have the rest of the day for us to figure it out. We could talk more in my room. Do you have the time, Lieutenant?” 

And that was a giant leap past the bounds of propriety. She fought off a hot blush while glaring at the man before her. “No, I do not. Goodbye, Enchanter.”

“It’s Nolin,” he called after her as she marched away. “I like for my friends to call me Nolin.”

Annika puffed out a frustrated breath through her nose as she closed the hallway door behind her. Nolin Lochland was going to be a problem for her and the other Templars, she could already feel it.


End file.
